There's a place for everything, and everything is in it's place. I am, by nature, a man of great tidiness: orderliness, economy, neatness, and method are my watchwords.
I find that light dusting comes as a relief that is bordering on the physical, and hoovering is almost too much to bear in an ecstasy-type of way. My home is a haven of hygiene and harmony.
I spend many an hour poring over my Visitor's Book, delighting in such comments as:
"Kim and Aggie eat your hearts out!"
"I felt I could eat off the floor if he could have bothered to cook anything for me."
"An insect-o-cutor in every room! How very now!"
"Sadly, the sterile boiler suit and slippers he supplied for my visit didn't fit and I only had time to write in this blasted book."
"I would like to thank the lady at number 28 for being decent enough to let us use her loo."
This kind of ultra-cleanliness requires dedication and a substantial time-commitment.
Although, luckily I don't feel the need to bother at work. *
*Except of course for when 'she who must be obeyed' is on one of her nine-minute wonder displacement rampages.
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